


Balm for all the thorns

by Petra



Category: due South
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-07
Updated: 2011-10-07
Packaged: 2017-10-29 19:15:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/323213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Petra/pseuds/Petra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It always takes time to do this stuff, whether it's a girl on her first date or a guy sitting on the floor with somebody who might be his best friend, or might be his best friend he's about to have sex with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Balm for all the thorns

**Author's Note:**

> For [](http://sdwolfpup.livejournal.com/profile)[**sdwolfpup**](http://sdwolfpup.livejournal.com/) in the due South/C6D Homecoming ficlet exchange.

It takes time--these things do. To get past the wondering whether, to figure out that yes, definitely, this is going to happen. It always takes time to do this stuff, whether it's a girl on her first date or a guy sitting on the floor with somebody who might be his best friend, or might be his best friend he's about to have sex with. Ray's fond of girls on a first date, but right now he's got Fraser next to him, and a hand on his thigh. Never had a date, exactly, but they didn't need one.

And the way Fraser's looking at him, they're not heading for a "Let's just be friends" speech unless Ray comes up with one before he gets up the nerve to go in for the kiss.

He's not hesitating because of the guy thing--not the dick poking him in the side, because that's part of this and not friends at all, whatever weird Canadian definition of friends Fraser works with--it's the friends thing. "We're gonna be okay, right?" Ray asks.

"I can't imagine why we wouldn't be."

"'cause I keep thinking about things--work--" and Fraser winces, because there's nothing he holds more sacred than his job, and whatever the CPD and the RCMP think officially about gay cops and Mounties, there's a difference between that and what really happens "--and working together. Keeping it together if--if. And if we can do that, well. My thoughts keep coming back to you."

Fraser smiles, bright as hell. "You're not alone in that," he says, and there it is. There's the answer. Time to tear each other's clothes off.

Some clothes are more easily torn than others, and it's nothing to do with the difference between red serge and bright awful polyester Ma picked out, especially not with Fraser in a sweater and jeans. There's fear of exposure and fear of rejection, and Ray's not sure he can take a whole lot more exposure to Fraser without going a little crazy. If he hasn't yet, and he might've. Shirts off, and it feels like a big step.

The solution to all that fear is more kissing--of course it is, you get yourself into a relationship with a man who puts anything in his mouth and the solution is always more kissing, enough to drown in, enough rough velvet taste buds and slick lips that they could keep at it all night like that and it would be enough, almost. But it's a big almost, an almost the size of the fear going away one more piece because hands, hands on skin, in places they could never touch at work, in public.

Fraser makes the most amazing noises when you grab his ass, turns out. At least if you're the right person--Ray's seen too many people take an unwelcome swipe at his ass and it's not like he blames them exactly, but there's a difference between opportunistic grabby and having serious, tongue-in-mouth permission here.

Permission granted and then some, and it's not going to be hard exactly keeping his hands to himself when they're not safe at home, but he's going to be thinking about it, about the firm give and the warmth and there is no way Ray's going to keep his pants on for more than another minute, even if he has to let go to take them off.

Which he doesn't, because Fraser's good like that, and he's not grabbing for Ray's ass. He's peeling Ray's pants off instead, and that's great, that's cue the choirs of angels amazing--and that was just his hand, but God and all the saints his mouth.

Ray realizes he's making the kind of noise that makes any sane guy rethink that whole exposure-rejection thing, but it's too late to stop, and it's not like Fraser doesn't notice this sort of thing. He notices every sort of thing, and it's not slowing him down one little bit, not even when Ray says, "Holy fuck," and half his horrified brain expects Fraser to stop and tell him off for using bad language.

How they got from friends to this--he's never going to know. It's trackless like the Great White North and Fraser could probably explain every step. He's probably got a story for it, the story of some tribe and the difference between "Hey, buddy, want to grab lunch?" and making a desperately hungry noise around your buddy's dick.

But at least that noise was Fraser--not Ray, not that time--so it's okay. It's all okay.

It's all completely amazing, and if Fraser doesn't stop in about five seconds it'll be over. "Hang on, hang on," Ray says, and hopes he's saying it in English.

Fraser looks up at him with wide eyes and his mouth all wet, and this time the guy making the hungry noise is definitely Ray. "Are you all right?" Fraser says, all concerned like there could possibly be something wrong.

"Take your pants off already," Ray says, and it only takes a few seconds for Fraser to do it--how, why, when he practiced that maneuver, Ray'll think about it some other time. Some time when he's not pulling Fraser towards him and the only thing that feels better than Fraser's ass through jeans is his bare ass when giving him a tug means grinding against him.

Ray was close, really fucking close, and he barely has time to get his hand on himself, around him and Fraser and okay, that's better, too, the slick solid heat of him and the way it makes him groan low in his throat. Ray could listen to that forever, if it didn't make him shudder, if the sound and the way Fraser kisses him again didn't make him come hard and fast.

"Jesus," he says against Fraser's mouth, and jerks him faster, wetter now. They're both a mess, and Fraser's shower's down the hall, but there's a sink and they'll make it work one way or another. "You feel--"

Fraser kisses him before he can decide on a word, orgasm-drunk and trying not to say too much. Another deep kiss, and if what it takes to get Fraser off is a tight squeeze and the chance to suck Ray's tongue so hard it tingles, that is doable. Ray can do that, do him, any time, because the way he shakes and shudders when he comes is as perfect as every damn thing he does.

"I have--a washcloth," Fraser offers, well before he catches his breath.

Ray shakes his head and pulls him into a wet, increasingly gluey hug. "In a minute," he says. It's more like three, maybe four before he stops drifting on the afterglow and realizes he's sitting bare-ass naked on the floor, and if he doesn't get up and clean up he'll freeze to death. "Okay, maybe a washcloth. And then, um." He gives Fraser a look, hopes it comes out flirty instead of shy. "We can make this work. Yeah?"

"Yeah," Fraser says, and gives him a quick kiss that turns into a few more before he stands up.  



End file.
